“Wrong!” Emerson shouted. “Curse it, Nazir, you know better than that! Why are you telling these idiots such lies?”

The tourists let out little squeals of surprise; several of the ladies got behind their husbands. The sight of Emerson in a rage, advancing in great bounds, was enough to terrify the timid. Nazir, who was accustomed to him, only grinned and shook his head.

“It is what they want to hear, Father of Curses,” he said in Arabic.

“Oh, bah,” said Emerson. “Don’t let them use those damned magnesium torches, that’s all.”

He pushed through the crowd and headed straight for the Saite chapels, with the rest of us following close on his heels. I was distressed to observe that his fears had been justified. Several persons, coolly ignoring the ropes and No Trepass signs that enclosed the work area, were passing in and out of the chapel. There was a flash of light from the interior as a magnesium flare went off. Emerson began to run.

“Hurry and catch him up, Ramses,” I panted. “Don’t let him hit anyone!”

“All right, Mother.” Ramses was the only one of us who could cover ground as quickly as his father. It was as well I had anticipated the worst; we found them inside the lovely little chapel of Amenirdis, confronting a trio of tourists. Ramses had managed to get between them and his father, who was cursing at the top of his lungs.

“Damnation!” I said. “It’s the confounded Albions again. What do they want?”

“A spot of sight-seeing, one must suppose,” Nefret answered. She went to Emerson and slipped her arm through his. “Good afternoon, everyone.”

None of the Albions appeared perturbed by Emerson’s tirade. To judge by his broad apple-cheeked smile, Mr. Albion had enjoyed every profane word. “He sure can cuss,” he observed admiringly. “Not proper in the presence of a lady, though.”

Mrs. Albion, hands folded and face composed, emitted a genteel cough. Emerson looked a little sheepish. “I didn’t say a word that could -”

“What got you riled up?” Albion inquired curiously.

Emerson drew a deep breath. Fearing another tirade, Ramses said quickly, “For one thing, sir, this area is out of bounds to tourists. Didn’t you see the signs?”

“I wanted to examine the reliefs,” said Sebastian Albion. He was leaning against them, another archaeological sin in Emerson’s book.

“Stand up straight, Mr. Sebastian,” I ordered. He obeyed instantly, his eyes widening. I went on, “Touching or leaning against the walls mars the paint. Magnesium flares give off smoke which damages the reliefs. You risk a bad fall wandering round in the dark. Cyrus, I thought you were going to repair the floor.”

“Hadn’t got around to it,” Cyrus admitted. “Thought the signs would keep people out.”

“We assumed the prohibition did not apply to us,” said Mrs. Albion coldly.

“You were mistaken,” said Emerson. “Out, everyone.”

“The Cook’s people are leaving,” I added. “You had better hurry if you want to go with them.”

“We didn’t come with them.” Albion hopped nimbly over the rope while Emerson, endeavoring to make up for his rudeness to a lady, held it down for Mrs. Albion. He got not so much as a murmur of thanks, but the younger Mr. Albion squared his shoulders and began to apologize.

“You are quite right, madam, I of all people ought to have known better than to risk damage to the reliefs. We were also wrong to ignore the barriers, but, you see, we had heard you were working at Medinet Habu, but when we arrived no one was here, and my father -”

“Hmmm, yes,” said Emerson, scowling at the older man.

We started back toward the gate, with Emerson herding Mr. and Mrs. Albion ahead of him, and Nefret accompanying them, in case Emerson started to be rude. I followed with Jumana and Ramses and Mr. Sebastian Albion.

“I would appreciate the opportunity to examine those reliefs and perhaps take a few photographs,” the latter said. “If you could spare the time to explain them, it would be a great favor. At your convenience, of course.”

“We will be working elsewhere for a time,” I said. He had addressed Ramses, not me, but Ramses’s mouth was set in that way of his and he was obviously not inclined to be cooperative. “How much longer are you planning to remain in Luxor?”

“Indefinitely, Mrs. Emerson. I suppose you have heard about the resumption of submarine warfare? In any case, we had planned to spend the entire winter in Egypt. I am thinking of doing some excavating.”

“You had better stop thinking of it,” I said. “Unless you can obtain permission from the Service des Antiquités.”

“Is that really necessary? There’s hardly anyone working here at present. The Valley of the Kings, for instance -”

“That is out of the question,” I said sharply. “Few expeditions are in the field at this time, but most of the sites have been allocated. Lord Carnarvon holds the firman for the Valley of the Kings, and I assure you that the authorities would come down hard on anyone who began digging there.”

Instead of appearing abashed, the young man gave us a supercilious smile. “Thank you for the advice. We will have to see, won’t we?”

“I trust we won’t see you digging in the Valley,” Ramses said. “The Service des Antiquités is not the only one who would come down hard on you.”

The only response was a shrug.

“Goodness, Ramses, but you were brusque with young Mr. Albion,” I remarked, after we had seen the party on its way back to their hotel and had mounted our noble steeds.

“Was he? Good,” said Emerson. “Don’t want people of that sort bothering us.”

Ramses glanced back at Jumana, who was talking to Nefret. “I haven’t told you what he said about Jumana the other evening.”

He repeated the offensive remark. Cyrus turned red with indignation and Emerson growled, “Damn the young swine! Why didn’t you tell me? I would have -”

“So would I, if Nefret hadn’t stopped me,” Ramses said. “I took pains to make the position clear. There’s been no harm done.”

“And there won’t be any,” Cyrus declared.

“Quite right,” I said. “What did you think of his absurd proposal of excavating in the Valley of the Kings?”

“I was surprised,” Ramses admitted. “Visitors sometime fall into the error of supposing they can dig wherever they like, but he ought to have known better. Was he trying to provoke us?”

“You’re almost as suspicious-minded as your mother,” said Cyrus.

“My ma,” Ramses corrected. “That’s how Mr. Albion referred to her the other evening. Father, how would you like being addressed as Pa?”

“Not very much,” Emerson grunted.

“You are taking them too seriously,” I insisted. “They are rather silly and somewhat annoying, and we will have as little to do with them as possible. Have you decided what needs to be done here, Emerson?”

“What needs to be done,” said Emerson grumpily, “is lock the whole place up and shoot any damned tourist who tries to get in. Yes, yes, Peabody, I know, it is an impractical suggestion. You made plans of the brickwork you found west of the chapel, Vandergelt? The men had better cover it up again, otherwise the bloody tourists will climb all over it and destroy what little is left.”

“What about repairing the floor?” Cyrus asked. He was not anxious to waste time on that chore, but he was a conscientious individual.

“Leave it,” Emerson said. “One of the damned tourists may fall in.”

We started back toward the donkey park, where we had left the horses. Still chuckling over Emerson’s humorous remark – I think it was supposed to be humorous – Cyrus remarked, “Bertie was in a pretty glum state of mind this morning. Hates being laid up. Is there any reason why he can’t come out with us tomorrow?”

“Why not?” Emerson replied. “We can use another pair of hands, if only for keeping field notes.”

“I suppose we could arrange a chair and footstool,” I mused. “But in my opinion, Bertie ought to stay at home for a few more days.”